


Imagine Bucky Remembering an Old Pick-Up Line He’d Used to Say to Girls, and Says it to You

by forestofmyown



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Humor, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on tumblr:  http://wearethetank.tumblr.com/post/84330639714/imagine-bucky-remembering-an-old-pick-up-line-hed</p>
    </blockquote>





	Imagine Bucky Remembering an Old Pick-Up Line He’d Used to Say to Girls, and Says it to You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr: http://wearethetank.tumblr.com/post/84330639714/imagine-bucky-remembering-an-old-pick-up-line-hed

Being “friends” with Bucky Barnes comes with a lot of baggage. There’s confusion, frustration, even fear at times, and awkward silences are more often than not the norm. Sometimes you don’t know what to do with him. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with himself. And, sometimes, both of you are so baffled by what comes out of his mouth that neither of you knows what to do with either.

Now is one of those times.

“I,” Bucky begins, then bites his lip. His eyes are wide, awash with panic, and he blinks several times before looking away, face flushing. “I am so sorry. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. I don’t even know where that came from-”

You feel both your eyebrows shoot up. Pressing your lips together, you try not to laugh, but it’s a futile effort. The bubbling starts in your chest and climbs right up, bursting from your mouth in raucous giggles. Slapping your hand over your mouth, you try to stifle them, but it’s far too late.

Bucky stares at you. His lip quirks up at the edge as his brows raise questioningly. Confused but adorable; Bucky in a nutshell, really.

You’re still giggling.

“S-sorry.” You manage to force out, pressing your fist to your lips. “But that was great.”

"Was it?” He asks, beginning to smile. “I … I thought it was inappropriate.”

“Oh, very.” You laugh again. “But still great.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly at your continued giggles. “Do you always respond like this when someone hits on you?”

“Depends on how pathetic the attempt was.” You respond cockily.

His smile slips. “That was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”

“Considering the fact you probably learned in back in the forties? Yeah, yeah it was pretty bad.” There is no keeping a straight face in this conversation, and you have to use Bucky to hold yourself up, the laughter is so powerful. Also, it’s a great excuse to place your hand on the obviously firm and chiseled chest beneath his nice cotton shirt (that was probably two sizes too small, judging from how well defined he was despite the layer). Your hand lands at the line where metal and skin fuse, and the feel of the uneven scar tissue and smooth metal brings to mind flashes of pain.

Not your own; his. You have a vague idea of what he went through. How he must have suffered. No details, but the appendage is a story all it’s own, whether he tells you anything or not. It’s a sobering thought, and the laughter trails off with your dampening mood.

A corny pick-up line slipping out during a casual conversation turned semi-flirty—that’s what had caused this. A pick-up line from the forties, simultaneously charming and arrogant, gentlemanly and chauvinistic. A pick-up learn he doesn’t remember learning, like he can’t remember so many things. A flash of his past shining through. Does it hurt him? These moments, the pain and confusion and the feeling of just not knowing.

You sigh, raising your head to meet his gaze. He’s just as lost and expectant as always. Those puppy-dog eyes, that crooked half-smile. He’s probably charmed a hundred ladies with those looks and lines like that one. But he doesn’t remember, and you can’t hold either against him. He’s sweet, and you’re lucky to have a moment like this with him, you know it.

He’s a man out of his time. He’s suffered so much. He’s trying to learn about a world that has existed in ignorance of his pain for some seventy years. Trying to learn about a world that used him and damaged him and almost destroyed him. Trying to be human again. Trying to live.

And you’re lucky to be a part of that. You almost weren’t. He could have died. Should be dead. And as much as you hate each and every single person involved in damaging this beautiful man …

You’re also glad he’s here. So, so, so glad.

Placing a hand softly on his cheek, you turn Bucky’s head towards you and press your lips against his rough, scruffy skin.

“Thank you.”

You pull away. He isn’t smiling, but he doesn’t look put off. Just confused. You probably sounded too serious, you think, and give him a grin to try and smooth things over. Slapping him on the back, you start to saunter off.

“Come on, then!” You call back to him. “You owe me dinner after a line like that!”


End file.
